


To Heal the Soil

by shotgunsinlace



Series: Dawn Chasers [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Nerds flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 14:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16286543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsinlace/pseuds/shotgunsinlace
Summary: Prompto considers a career, Ignis struggles with a failing garden, Noctis tackles cooking, and Gladio finally opens up about his time during the Ruin. After the events at Ravatogh, and taking advantage of the peace and quiet currently spreading throughout Lucis, the four of them nourish the roots they've planted in Cape Caem.Takes place some time afterHomeward Rolling Soldier.





	To Heal the Soil

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned some time ago that HRS would have a continuation. This is the first of the oneshots that take place between the first major installment and the second major one (that I still haven't even started writing but the outline EXISTS I swear). These little things will mostly explore the development of the OT4's romantic relationship, as well as a bit of world building post game, since the major fics are predominantly plot heavy in order to keep them neat and tidy and concise. Basically, expect a lot of fluff and, potentially, smut, in the future because I'm using these in-betweens to be a self-indulgent fuck. xoxoxo
> 
> Beta read by the fantastic [mikiri](http://mikiri.tumblr.com/) & [wantonglances](https://wantonglances.tumblr.com/)!

He’s procrastinated enough.

Day in and day out he continuously puts off the inevitable by throwing about weak excuses that the others don’t even believe. It isn’t that Prompto doesn’t want to go through with filling out the documentation for his permit. More than anything he wants to get the tedious process done and over with, but the fear that his request might get rejected by the Agricultural Department renders him defeated.

Ignis suggested choosing a more ambitious yet less financially straining field, and Prompto sees the merit in it. With Duscae rebuilding at a slow and steady pace, they could very well use a rehabilitation center for chocobos rather than a breeding farm. With Wiz once again stationed to the east, Prompto can take on the heavier brunt of caring for the birds before handing them over to him. An honorable job, one he hopes to fulfill with all his might.

Aside from rejection, Prompto understands that he’s in no way a veterinarian. Caring for an injured puppy is one thing, but taking on the responsibility of rehabilitating wildlife sounds like more than he can chew.

It’s taken weeks of pep-talks and gentle words of encouragement to keep him from giving up on the seemingly unachievable dream altogether. While still on the fence on whether or not falling back on professional photography might be the most doable thing, he peruses the books Gladio purchased from his last visit to Insomnia.

Pen and paper in hand, Prompto lists a variety of ailments that are common for the birds and the most basic ways to treat them. He draws references, labels each bone, muscle, and feather. He takes notes on species varieties, migration patterns, and other facts he figures he needs to learn.

Despite all of this, Prompto is very well aware of the reality that if he were to actually do this he would need to attend some sort of schooling. That thought alone is scarier than anything else he’s ever encountered. High school was doable mostly because he had his bestie to keep him sane day in and day out. Doing so now would drive him mad.

Maybe he could mentor under Wiz for a while.

Regardless, Prompto pushes on because he has the best group of manly cheerleaders poking and prodding at him.

On the subject of frustrating goals, he feels he’s faring way better than a certain advisor-turned-chef.

Prompto puts down his book when the front door forcefully creaks open to grant entry to a bereaved Ignis.

His hair is kept out of his face by a yellow bandana, one that matches the bead bracelet Prompto jokingly made for him several days ago but Ignis refuses to take off. Dirt covers most of the skin from his hands all the way to his elbows, as well as a streak across his forehead from when he presumably tried to wipe off sweat.

“It’s bloody hot out.”

Prompto is quick to jump on his feet, gesturing for Ignis to take his seat. “You’ve been out there for hours.” He walks away to fetch a glass from the cabinet and pour him some lemonade, placing it by the book when Ignis unceremoniously plops down onto the offered chair. “Hope you didn’t forget sunscreen.”

“I would never.” Ignis takes the glass and thanks him, downing half of it in one go before setting it down again. “Seems like we’ve had no luck with the garden.”

Grabbing the pitcher from the fridge, Prompto sets it on the table and grabs a glass for himself. “Something should’ve sprouted by now, huh.”

Ignis nods his head. “I don’t understand what the issue is. Gardening isn’t difficult, and it’s something I’ve done countless times before. Initially I suspected the seeds to have been sick, but this makes the third batch from a different supplier.”

“Maybe it’s the soil,” Prompto says, taking the chair next to Ignis and filling his own glass.

“Whether or not it’s the soil, I don’t have the knowledge nor the equipment to inspect it.”

“Have you tried licking it?”

“No one is licking dirt, Prompto.”

Prompto laughs. “That adventurous streak is gone, I see.”

“I’m an old man. The most adventurous of tasks I’m comfortable partaking in is attempting to sort all of our socks into matching pairs every laundry day.”

“Not true. I can think of a couple other adventurous things you can get up to.”

“All exploits in the bedroom excluded.”

“Aw, come on! Besides, you’re only three whole years older than me. Calling yourself old is calling me old and I’m not about that life.”

“You’re sitting in our kitchen going through bird books, jotting down academic notes on how to raise them while drinking lemonade you prepared earlier today. With lemons plucked from our trees.”

“Alright, hey now, domesticity and being old are two totally different things, wise guy.”

Ignis’ smile is infectious, and he leans forward to playfully knock their glasses together. “You’re absolutely right,” he says as he drinks the last of his lemonade. Humming pleasantly, he gestures towards the general area of the kitchen. “Where’s Noct?”

“Probably out fishing. Haven’t seen him since lunch, so I’m betting he totally forgot it was his turn to start dinner tonight.”

“I did not,” Noctis says, leaning over the railing on the second floor. “I’ll have you know I was actually busy.”

Prompto and Ignis share a look that says they both know he was sleeping the day away.

They watch him jog down the stairs while pulling on a fresh shirt, his bare feet thudding against the smooth wooden floor. Noctis yawns, tries covering it with his elbow, and then stops to stretch when he’s reached the bottom step.

Ignis shakes his head endearingly. “You’re practically a cat, dear.”

“Up all night for a sip of milk, then snoozing all day when it’s extra hot out,” Prompto says teasingly, threading his fingers together and resting his chin over them.

Noctis always looks ridiculously attractive when fresh out of bed, all loose limbs and soft features.

Same can be said for Ignis, especially when he’s covered in sweat and dirt and far from pristinely kept.

Prompto thanks the powers that be for the blessing that are his companions. The atmosphere at hand is good enough to incite an impromptu romp if Gladio were present. Currently, he’s away in Lestallum for one reason or another, and Prompto can’t wait for him to get back.

“You’re drooling,” Noctis says, “Keep it in your pants for once in your life.”

“Can’t help it when you’re teasing us like this.”

Noctis scoffs and then laughs, making his way further into the kitchen to presumably take charge of his chore of the day. “You agree with him, Specs?”

“You do make quite the alluring sight.”

“Then hold onto your butts,” Noctis says, opening the fridge and sticking his head inside it. “What I’m about to do next will blow your minds.”

From their spot on the table they can see Noctis’ bottom half sticking out of the door as he bends over to grab something. Aware of himself, he wiggles his hips, which makes Prompto giggle as Ignis hums his interest.

“Incredible.” Noctis straightens up and shuts the refrigerator with his foot, shaking his head as he place the chosen ingredients on the counter. “None of you appreciate me for my talent. You only want my amazingly hot body.”

“Your ability to fish for six straight hours turns me on too!” Prompto says, hands to his chest to fake insult.

“If it’s you’re ability to cook that you’re referring to,” Ignis adds with a bow of his head, “you do delightfully well at following a recipe. So long as you don’t decide to omit necessary ingredients.”

“Carrots are never necessary in anything ever.”

Prompto watches Ignis rise to his feet and head over to Noctis. He kisses his cheek, to which Noctis leans into with a self-satisfied smirk, before making for the sink to thoroughly wash his hands.

“I’ll help with dinner.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’d love to.”

“You’ve been in the sun all day, Iggy. I’ve got this, I swear.”

Drying his hands on the towel hanging by a cabinet door, Ignis drapes it over his shoulder and reaches for one of the knives in the block. “Two will make the process a lot faster. I can hear Prompto’s stomach grumbling all the way over here.”

“Lies!”

Prompto watches them move in tandem, side-stepping each other as they search for things they need. Noctis recites the recipe from memory while Ignis nods his approval, gently corrects his chopping movements before moving on to the next step of their dance.

Always in tune.

Noctis has come a long way from surviving off Cup Noodles. While Prompto has taken it upon himself to master the kitchen at a level at least one-third as good as Ignis’, Noctis has resolved himself to become capable enough to feed others beside himself. He improves every day, and tries to use his newfound skill to find ways to substitute vegetables for more tolerable ingredients. Like meat.

Grabbing his pen and notebook once more, Prompto thoughtlessly doodles along the margins, basking in the wonderful warmth that lays claim to his heart. His chest fills to bursting with adoration for the men talking in their kitchen, in their home. Sure, he’s still missing one vital component, but wherever he is, Prompto sends him an adoring thought.

It then occurs to him that he can do one better.

Reaching for his phone, Prompto snatches a quick photo of Ignis and Noctis in the kitchen and messages it to Gladio. He adds “wish you were here right now” quickly after.

Even so, Prompto can’t think of a possible way for this to get any better, so he sighs with contentment and pours himself another glass.

***

People rarely pass by Cape Caem this day in age. Traffic tends to end by the outpost a couple of miles off to the east, and those who make the trip to Ravatogh often choose the newer highway to the north.

Every once in a while a stray tourist will stop by the side of the road and gaze up at the lighthouse, the stories of its importance during the Ruin a fading thought amidst the general population.

They like the privacy this place grants them. They like the quiet that is only ever interrupted by the waves, or the crackle of a fire, or their own playful bickering. Away from prying eyes, the Cape allows them to be who they are, away from the media and the followers who still look upon them as saviors.

Which makes their current visitor a wholly new experience and Prompto can’t quite make himself presentable.

In tattered jeans and lacking a shirt, Prompto fidgets under the punishing sun. He casually attempts to cross his arms in front of his chest but then lets them down, unsure if it makes him look like an idiot. He wishes Gladio would have at least sent him a warning.

Gladio who now stands beside Prompto with a pensive frown.

Across from them, Sania Yaeger paces to and fro.

“For starters, you got yourselves the wrong type of scientist,” she says, “but I’m impressed you even thought about contacting one.”

“Yes, well, once all other options were dismissed it is only obvious to assume that the problem lies with the soil,” says Ignis. He’s kneeling by one of the rows of freshly turned earth, grabbing a handful of soil and letting it crumble between his fingers. “None of us have the expertise to confirm or deny the fact.”

“I can’t tell you for certain, but I know a lady in Leide who can give you definitive answers.” Sania rummages through her orange pack and plucks out a baggie along with a trowel. She carefully scoops a substantial amount of soil into it before sealing the bag.

“How long will it take for us to hear anything back?” Gladio asks.

“Can’t say for certain. Song’s got her hands full archiving the most recent finds on plasmodium particles, so it might take a while.”

Prompto starts at the mention, a hypothesis slowly forming in his head. By the way Ignis squints his eyes, it’s safe to say he’s also come to a similar conclusion.

“Now,” she says, carefully storing the sample back in her pack, “you boys got anything drink? I’m dying of thirst here. Whatever happened to that Insomnian hospitality?”

***

“I can’t believe there’s still remnants of the Scourge just hanging around,” Prompto says, and the statement cuts through the hum of conversation.

He’s sitting on the end of the bed, grimacing as Gladio’s big hands rub cooling lotion along his back. His rendezvous without a shirt today has left his skin bright pink, and he’s shivering from a fever they all try their hardest to quell with cool compresses and cold tea.

Noctis looks up at him from his spot by his feet, his expression a cross between displeasure and confusion. “Care to elaborate?”

“Sania mentioned there being a scientist studying Scourge particles. Here I thought it was all exterminated after the dawn returned.”

A long silence befalls them, and Prompto can’t help but shut his eyes and focus on the lulling sensation of Gladio’s hands on him. They’re gentle and light, barely noticeable, along the areas of his skin that scream for some sort of relief from the unbearable heat. But his fingers sink in and massage to spaces that are untouched by discomfort, mostly along his hips and ribs, causing a different type of heat to stir inside his boxers.

“It’d make sense,” Noctis says, getting up and brushing off before gracelessly crawling into bed. He flops down with a toothy yawn, nearly elbowing Ignis who has already settled in for the night, a book perched against his chest. “The only real threat the virus has is light. Theoretically, it’s plausible that some bits of it still managed to survive in dark places. What do you think, Specs?”

Ignis swats Noctis’ hand away from his face before closing his book and setting it on the bedside table. “I think we ought to consult a professional on the subject. Were there any remnants of the Scourge still lurking, one would think people will begin exhibiting symptoms of contagion again.”

“Any input, Gladdy?” Prompto says, wiggling away from him when his touches become more teasing than healing.

Gladio reaches for the towel beside the bed and wipes his hands clean, letting Prompto go without a fight. He shrugs, letting the conversation lull once again as they make their rounds for the night.

With the bedroom door securely locked and curtains drawn, Gladio flicks off the light, leaving only the bedside lamp to illuminate their immediate area.

Prompto slips underneath the covers, and Noctis has enough decency to let him get comfortable before deciding to curl up against his side, an arm over Prompto’s chest to hold him close.

Gladio is the last to settle down, resting on the other side of him like a soft human wall.

It isn’t any different from sleeping in the tent, but the mattress under them allows a greater range of comfortable mobility. Now Ignis can sleep on his side without his hips aching, and Noctis can become a human octopus without worrying about a particular sort of soreness come morning.

“It’s a good haircut,” Gladio says.

Prompto looks up from his phone screen, grinning from ear to ear. “Figured you’d like it.”

“A few more inches off the ends would have been ideal,” Ignis chimes in, leaning over Noctis to admire his own handiwork. “But someone made certain to make his disagreement known.”

Noctis scoffs. “You wanted to shave it all off.”

“I thought it would be practical.”

“Who needs practical when you’re retired?” Noctis says, stretching out his legs before curling right back into place. He moves his hand to rest it over Prompto’s hip, then slowly trails it upward underneath his shirt. “He looks perfectly fine with his hair this way.”

Prompto melts into the touch, more so when Gladio leans up on his arm to peer down at him. Thick fingers ruffle his hair and he nods, seemingly agreeing with Noctis on this. “We all know Prompto wants to be more like me, Iggy. So we’ll let him have this.”

“Oh, yeah, I want to be just like Gladio when I grow up. Then I’d never have to wear a shirt again.”

“Gotta warn you, it’s not easy being me.”

“Must be real hard doing all those push-ups and eating all those Cup Noodles.”

“And looking after the three of you,” Gladio says solemnly. “You’d be lost without me.”

Ignis laughs, then turns off the bedside lamp. “Go to sleep, you absolute cretins.”

Prompto sets his phone on silent and shoves it underneath his pillow, settling into a loose sprawl that pulls him under the cover of sleep in no time.

Having shorter hair is definitely noticeable, and enjoyable, when one sleeps on an oversized bed with three other people. He had begun to get annoyed whenever it got pinned by Gladio’s arm, or when it got too infernally hot and he had no idea what to do with it.

It’s long enough to tie back if need be, but Ignis did an impressive job at thinning it out and nearly shaving the sides of his head. It’s definitely different, and Prompto loves it. Mostly because he really did wait until Ignis had been able to physically do it.

Prompto is tugged away from the edge of unconsciousness by Noctis, whose nails are lightly dragging across his skin. The pads of his fingers come dangerously close to his right nipple, making goosebumps rush along his arms.

While intimacy between him and Noctis has been an ongoing exploration of pure desire and goofy laughs, the rest remains new and mostly unconquered. Like taking two equations and turning it into one, Prompto still hesitates whenever Ignis or Gladio are in the room with them. Noctis is all too comfortable in that respect, swapping kisses between the four of them and wasting no time in climbing over whoever he needs to in order to make sure no one is left out.

Slow and steady, Prompto tells himself. He’s spent the majority of his life starving himself of touch, only to be treated to a buffet of physical affection, casual and otherwise.

“Now that I think about it,” Gladio says, stilling any and all squirming that was beginning to take place, “I may have heard of this before.”

Prompto angles his head towards him to let Gladio know he’s listening despite his closed eyes.

“While scouting the territory northwest of the Versperpool.”

“I didn’t know there was anything out there,” Prompto confesses.

“Farmland, mostly. When Lestallum’s trade routes changed, when it became too dangerous to travel between outposts without power, merchants reached out to more secluded properties. These lands haven’t been marked on a map for ages, which meant the population count was low, mostly kept in the family.”

“Which meant less daemonified humans,” Noctis says, catching on to what Gladio’s getting to. “It also meant less power to fend off stray daemons roaming the outlands.”

Gladio makes an affirmative sound. “Monica entrusted a small group of us to escort the goods every couple of weeks. The less people knew, the lesser the chances of an ambush of any sort. It worked, until the resources became so scarce and scattered we no longer risked the trip. It took a couple of months, but news of a hunt led me up there again. I thought the lack of commerce had to do with the farmer getting sick, but it turned out monsters were swarming his land. I stayed with them. Made sure they could harvest as safely as possible.

“But the crops began to die out, or wouldn’t grow at all. First they thought it was due to the lack of sunlight, but even crops that tended to grow in the bleak daytime began to fail. They tried everything to salvage what they could, but the farmer – Elric – said it might have been the soil that was beginning to fail. Lack of nutrients. Now that I think about it, the land may have gotten infected as well.”

“Could very well be a lack of nutrients, as they suggested,” Ignis says.

“Maybe, but after Noct…” Gladio pauses, and the silence is deafening.

Prompto holds his breath for he can almost feel the sharp sting of the memory take form along Gladio’s frame. There are more than just words here. The lingering truth of events far behind them still robs them of the very air in their lungs, and Prompto can’t help but tighten his grip on Noctis, all the while pressing himself closer to Gladio.

_We’re safe. We’re whole. We’re here._

“When the sun returned,” Gladio continues, his voice now raw with a sea of thoughts left unspoken, “I went back to the farm. There was hardly anything left. Only his daughters were there. So I stayed.”

“You stayed,” Ignis echoes.

“Didn’t know what else to do. With Noct dead, Prompto AWOL, and you not existing outside of the realm of politics, that was the only damn worthwhile thing to do. I stayed, helped them rebuild, made sure nothing nasty came close to their land. Took years, but I eventually got to see some damn garlic grow out of a pot on the windowsill.” Gladio clears his throat. “It felt good to build, to plant seeds and watch them grow after a while. The world had been nothing but death and darkness for so long, I forgot how satisfying it was to see something come alive instead. See something come alive because of your own hands.”

In the darkness, Prompto can see Gladio lift a hand and flex his fingers, as if only just realizing he could move them for the very first time.

“Elric’s oldest looks just like Iris.”

“Are you still in contact with them?” Ignis asks.

“Yeah.”

“We should pay them a visit sometime,” Noctis says, his voice somber.

“They might want to keep us there if we do.” Gladio tries, but his words are laden with a hint of melancholy.

“A change of scenery might be nice at some point,” Prompto says. He angles his face down just enough to press his nose into Noctis’ hair, all the while sighing with content when Gladio curls into him, a hand now resting over his hip.

The quiet lulls them again, either bringing them into their own little bubble of thought or closer to the edge of sleep. Regardless, words have been said. This is more than Gladio has ever confided of his time since Noctis disappeared into the Crystal what feels like a lifetime ago. There is so much riding on his simple description of events.

Gladiolus is a shield before he is a warrior.

A protector. A man with a heart warm enough to bring peace, if not to an entire kingdom, than to a small family in the middle of a barren field. And that alone makes an ocean of difference in a world that had been consumed by darkness and pain, both outside and in.

Without disturbing a now slumbering Noctis, Prompto is able to maneuver himself just enough to shift upward and press a kiss to Gladio’s cheekbone. It’s brief, the ghost of a touch, but Gladio returns it tenfold by tenderly dragging his knuckles down Prompto’s cheek.

***

By the time the first rays of sunlight grace the early morning chill made colder by the sea breeze, Prompto treks the short path between the house and their garden. He had half a mind to slip on a sweater before meandering out, his mind still logged with thoughts from last night’s conversation. At the very least, no nightmarish visions or cryptic nightmares plagued his sleep.

He rubs his hands along his arms for the sake of generating more heat and decides on putting on a pot of coffee the moment he gets back inside. Right now, however, there’s something he wants to see.

The crystalline blue sky above is cloudless, patches of pink and dark purple clinging to the horizon as the sun greets the new day.

Prompto smiles to himself.

And here Noctis thought things could never be simple again.

Maybe something is stirring in the bowels of Eos. Maybe some creature who wears his face is watching them from a safe distance. Maybe the balance of the cosmos is off due to Noctis’ resurrection, or Ignis’ sight, or Prompto’s healing touch.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

On this day’s dawn all is well. Prompto can trust that once he returns, his bed will still be warm and welcoming. When the clock strikes seven, Ignis will return to the garden and Gladio will get started on the new fence posts. As for Noctis, he’ll sleep in for another two hours before starting his morning.

“Mornin’,” Prompto says to the wind in the form of a greeting. He can feel her in his solitude. “Hope your day’s as good as mine. Assuming it’s another good day here.”

He’s made it a sort of ritual, talking to Lunafreya despite her physical absence. It makes him feel better about things he cannot control, and he hopes it brightens her day up as it usually does his, wherever she may be in the ether.

Prompto hovers over the plot of turned soil and thinks back to the very first time they visited Cape Caem, with wide eyes and excitement coursing through their veins. Those couple of days spent doing absolutely nothing before casting off, getting pieces for Cid to modify Noctis’ weapons with, and doing Monica the favor of plucking carrots from this very place he stands on.

He kneels by the wire meant to separate the carrots from the potatoes and pokes a finger into the hard soil. It’s dry despite the surrounding area still covered in dew, the soil brittle to the touch as it crumbles between his thumb and forefinger.

It looks like dirt.

Nothing special, nothing different.

Still, Prompto sighs.

Closing his eyes, he measures his intakes of breath and keeps them even, focusing on the tip of his fingers.

At first he feels silly, fights the urge to open his eyes and look behind him to confirm that none of the others are looking over him, ready to make some sort of joke. Instead, he grounds himself to the here and now. He listens to the crashing of waves and the howl of the wind.

Prompto leans over and places both hands over the soil, and waits.

He isn’t at all surprised when nothing happens.

At least Sania will bring answers in a matter of time. Progress is progress, no matter how slow it may take. Then they will take appropriate action and kickstart their self-sufficient lifestyle. Or as self-sufficient as it can possibly be.

“Oh, well. I tried.”

Prompto sits back, legs crossed underneath him. He breathes in the crisp air, fills his lungs to bursting, before slowly exhaling through his nose. He wiggles his fingers, and wonders if he’s still asleep.

The answer is that he’s not, and not even Ignis will be awake for another hour. Coffee be damned, he’s going right back to bed and sleeping in until Noctis himself kicks him over the edge.

“Wish it’d always be like this,” he says. “And there you go again, you idiot.” It doesn’t always have to be like this, so long as it currently is.

He looks around and imagines how the place will look a year down the line, five years in the future, and he can see himself chasing after wild chocobos in order to wrangle them in. A bustling garden, a neatly built storage shed. A functioning lighthouse. Flowers from hill to vale.

A slice of paradise for him and those he loves the most.

Alive with newfound energy, Prompto bounces to his feet.

They can host a party, invite everyone they know. It can be a housewarming party although it’s already been months. Or an inauguration party, once the property is ready to accept his feathery foster children.

He just feels the overwhelming need to share their home, to go _look what we’ve achieved despite everything that’s happened_.

With a spring in his step, Prompto heads back inside, up the stairs, and into their bedroom.

Planning can wait.

Eos can wait.

He’s made it this far one step at a time, then by the Six will he continue to thrive by doing just that.

Shedding his shirt, and not bothering to even wash his hands, Prompto climbs back onto the bed. The three of them, despite being asleep, part to welcome him back. He settles back into last night’s spot and sighs dreamily, the relative warmth of their collective bodies calming his racing mind.

He doubts he can sleep after all, but at the very least, he’s comfortable and at peace for a while longer.

And if the soil does miraculously begin to bear fruit after today, then he’ll deal with that later.

For now, Prompto will drift.

Warm, safe, alive, and loved.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me @ [tumblr](http://astramaxima.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
